


Last Word

by cutglasscaress



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mutual experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutglasscaress/pseuds/cutglasscaress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds a way to stop Sherlock having the last word, but it just might come back and bite him in the arse, with any luck literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Word

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or John, and if I did they’d never leave my bedroom.
> 
> Notes
> 
> This was inspired by a couple of stories I read, but for the life of me I can’t remember whose or the title or well, pretty much anything. But I doff my hat at those unknown writers. I read so much fan fiction that it’s difficult to keep track, plus most of it is porn, which is clearly affecting my mental processes...

 

POV Sherlock

“I couldn’t explain any slower, John, I was going at stupid-speed as it was”.

They were on the side of the road waiting to hail a taxi, and Sherlock could clearly see John pursing his lips in a sign of barely contained annoyance, but he was in his stride now and venting about the stupidity of the world and the Yard in particular, and wasn’t about to lay off. Anyway, a little part of him liked to see John irritated. His eyes would get this flashing _look_ , and the colour would get that little bit deeper and darker. He might as well enjoy something out of this disastrously boring morning. He had just shifted his attention while adjusting his left glove, still in mid rant

“..and the lipstick, for goodness sake, John, how _how_ could even Anderson miss that? I do despair..”

when he felt a hand grab him by the back of the neck and pull him down to a set of lips.

“Mfg..!”

His brain and body just managed to coordinate on this occasion to ascertain the following: John’s hand, John’s lips, warm, soft, mmmh (not sure what that last one was – need to examine later) before the contact broke and he was left completely flummoxed while John was raising his arm and stopping the taxi.

“Coming?”

John’s cheeky smile belied any knowledge of the previous eight seconds (was it eight? Felt longer, too short, must review later). Sherlock joined him in the taxi, and surreptitiously studied him for the rest of the ride home, but at no stage did John act any differently than usual. There were no more sudden moves towards his lips, which Sherlock found himself inexplicably disappointed about (no, wait, perfectly explicable, actually, it was a simple desire for more data). John’s behaviour was puzzling, as if the incident had never happened. He could of course mention it himself, but there was data still to be analysed, and annoyingly he found it difficult to do so at the moment.

 

POV John

Ok, so Anderson was a class A idiot, and should have done his job properly, but it was Lestrade John felt sorry for. Sherlock was in a mean mood for having wasted his time on this pathetically mundane case (his words) and as usual was regaling the Yard with his opinions. Then he turned on his heels and flounced away from the crime scene, still spouting about stupidity and incompetence. John knew Sherlock’s moods well enough to realise which one this was shaping into, and was not looking forward to an angry Sherlock loose in the flat breaking things or burning them, whilst trying to needle John into an argument. He had to do something to derail that. His attention refocused on the man next to him. Dear god, had he actually drawn breath since they left the scene? His eyes were drawn to Sherlock’s lips. If only he could stop them flapping so venomously, preferably without the use of violence. Well, there was one way. He smiled as he pulled the man down to his lips. The kiss was short but, oh, the little noise Sherlock made! And his lips were even softer than he’d imagined them. (Not that he spent his time thinking about Sherlock’s lips and softness thereof, of course) And the look of utter confusion on Sherlock’s face was priceless. He tried not to grin too much as he hailed the cab. God, he should have done this ages ago.

 

POV Sherlock

“Piss off, Mycroft!” His brother smiled condescendingly, slid his eyes to John and placed the file on the table.

“I’ll leave you to it, dear brother”, and left. Sherlock glared at the offending addition to the clutter. What was really annoying was that the case was interesting, and he had nothing on at the moment, and he was itching to open the file. John was looking at him, and he was being distracted by that.

“Don’t you have a cup of tea to make, or something equally boring to do?”

A sigh, the sound of a chair being scraped back, the kettle being filled. Familiar, comforting tea making sounds drifted to him while he reviewed the contents of the file, then the sounds of John sitting in his chair, sipping his tea. Sherlock became aware of the distinct lack of teaness in his immediate vicinity.

“Where’s mine?”

“Oh, I thought you said tea was boring”

“No, John, I said tea _making_ was boring, tea _drinking_ is acceptable”

“Ah, well, we are not all as observant as you, as you keep pointing out, so clearly I misunderstood your statement to include all tea related activities”

“Ha, bloody ha, John, now go and make me a cup”

“Make it yourself, you lazy git”

“I’m reviewing this case, John, this case that _Mycroft_ gave me, so as you see, I’m already suffering in my own private hell, without having to add tea making to it, so go and make me tea”

“You really are a right royal pain in the arse, you know that?”

“Your insulting capabilities are somewhat lacking of late, John”

“What, as opposed to ‘Piss off, Mycroft’?”

“Oh, for god’s sake!”

Sherlock launched himself off the couch, grabbed John’s cup, took a large swallow, smirked at John’s outraged expression and marched back to the couch. There! Let John see where his no-tea-making-for-Sherlock got him. He placed the mug on the coffee table and listened to the sounds of John getting off his chair. He smiled imagining the still angry look on his face, the little flash in his eyes. He’d love to turn and see that, but that would not do in this situation. No, he had won this round, and he was obviously to ignore John’s angry grumblings. He was suddenly grabbed and spun round. Part of his brain not so helpfully was intrigued by John’s unexpected behaviour (Oh, he had not seen _this_ coming. How did he miss this? Dammit, there’s always something!) Part of it was wondering the practical moves to extricate himself from the situation, when he again felt John’s lips on his. Fleeting, too fleeting warmth, breath, taste of John, smell of John, gone too quickly. He stared at John, his eyes, his lips, which were slightly tilted on his left side in a knowing smile, but John broke away almost immediately

“Well, better make that tea, then”

and off he went to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock mentally flailing around and physically resisting the impulse to follow John and gather more lip related data.

 

POV John

Oh god, why did Mycroft have to turn up today! Things had been pretty good, considering the minor disaster of the Yard case three days before, and he had been enjoying the relative peace. In fact, since the kiss, Sherlock had been rather quiet around him, no doubt trying to suss out what it had been all about, and studying John when he thought he wasn’t looking.

And yes, he was happy for Sherlock to have a case, notwithstanding all the drama queen fuss he was making about it because it came from his brother, but he knew that because of that he was going to have to cope with a stroppy petulant Sherlock for the duration of the case. Oh, joy. God, he needed a cuppa right now.

On cue, Sherlock spotted him watching him, and made his first of no doubt many snarky remarks. He sighed and went to the kitchen, and he knew, he _knew_ , he should be the bigger man here, but a little mischievous part of him wanted to have a bit of fun at his expense. After all, Sherlock was going to be a pain either way, so why shouldn’t he get something out of it too?

He had not expected the abduction of his tea, however, and that was clearly a step too far, and how Sherlock the fucking genius could not see that was quite frankly astonishing. Still, watching those lips forming that smile, looking particularly plush and moist from the hot tea was sending little memories skipping along his brain and tingling pleasantly down his spine. Well, a successful technique should be tested more than once to ensure it was not a fluke. The scientific method was a wonderful thing. And really, Sherlock’s lips were so soft, and he tasted of tea, and he felt himself melting into it and again Sherlock was making the most delicious little noises, which he was sure he was not even aware of.... He found pulling away so much harder this time, and god knows what he looked like, but if it was anything like Sherlock, it was hot and needy. It was certainly a good look on him.

 

POV Sherlock

More data was needed, clearly. Two instances were not enough for the purpose, definitely not enough. Still, some deductions were possible. It seemed that John was using kissing as a way to derail Sherlock’s thought processes, mostly in a bid to shut him up or deflect an oncoming bad mood. If that were so, Sherlock had to admit that it was working. He thought he should be more outraged at the revelation, but found himself merely planning several scenarios where he could test this theory. Extensively. Sherlock dwelt particularly on some of the main variables: duration of the kiss, pressure of lips, possible addition of further tactile input, and use of tongues.

He reclined further on the couch, slapped another patch onto his arm, steepled his fingers under his chin, and proceeded to plot.

 

POV John

Well, he was pretty sure Sherlock was beginning to see the pattern, and would be able to respond in a different manner next time. Soooo, time to confuse the great detective by changing tack, so when John reverted back to his previous behaviour it would take Sherlock by surprise again. And he would revert, oh yes. There was no way he would give up the feeling of pressing those lips on his, and the accompanying delicious sounds. Oh, this was going to be fun.

 

POV Sherlock

Sherlock flumped sulkily onto the couch. His latest strop had utterly failed to elicit the desired result. His lips felt quite bereft, and a frustrated groan escaped them.

This was intolerable! Sherlock knew exactly the sort of behaviour that would rile John and was normally guaranteed to escalate to a glorious row (but more recently had induced kissage) yet everything he had been trying so far had singularly failed to achieve the objective. John was avoiding confrontation – there was no other explanation for his behaviour. Oh, yes, Sherlock could see the tightening of muscles in his face that denoted the supreme effort of not rising to the bait, but he remained in control. Why? Why had his pattern changed? Had he regretted his earlier actions? Had he himself misjudged the whole thing – was there in fact no pattern to discern? And now it was impossible to collect further data, and he was feeling somewhat cheated. His lips certainly were, and disconcertingly other body parts located further south.

Well, Sherlock was nothing if not persistent. John had proved a challenge. Time to step up the game.

 

POV John

Well, Sherlock had certainly been trying, and in every sense of the word. What John couldn’t make out was whether this behaviour was a direct result of John’s actions, and if so, what did it denote? Was Sherlock effectively ‘acting out’ in the hopes that John would kiss him again (definitely the preferred scenario, and one which John revisited embarrassingly often) or was Sherlock genuinely in a foul mood because of that, and effectively broadcasting ‘don’t dare try that again, John’ messages? Either way, John was finding it very difficult to continue in his resolution to not snog his mad flatmate senseless at every irritating opportunity. He found himself having rather vivid fantasies about him, thinking about those kisses rather too often, and realising that what had started out as a bit of fun, with some delightful incidental bonuses, had morphed into something else. But now he was unsure of what steps to take. He sighed. He was well and truly buggered...

 

 

John returns from a double shift at the surgery, trudges upstairs tired and grumpy, and just gagging for a cuppa. As he opens the door a fluttering of tiny feathers are sucked out of the living room, and swirl momentarily around his feet. John forces himself to look into the room. The floor is covered in feathers, and it seems that most available flat surfaces have suffered the same fate. He steps inside, his patience fraying at the edges.

“SHERLOCK?”

“Ah, John,” Sherlock looks up from his microscope “pass me those slides, will you?”

“Sherlock, what the HELL are you doing?”

Sherlock turns and looks at John as if his irritation is baffling, then looks at the bunch of feathers clutched in John’s shaking fist

“Ah, the feathers. Well, I started an experiment earlier, and didn’t get round to tidying up”

It is very likely that it is Sherlock’s quiet and relaxed attitude that tips John over the edge, the implied message that it is John who is being oddly difficult.

“You clean this up RIGHT NOW, Sherlock, or I swear to god...”

John never gets to finish. Sherlock swoops down on him, takes his head between his hands, surprising John in mid rant, tilts his head upwards and locks his lips to his. And, oh, it is glorious, just as lovely as before, and it takes less than a breath for John to return the kiss with eager lips, and wind his arms around Sherlock’s lanky frame. But it is different too. There is time to explore warm soft lips and sensuous tongues, to embrace, to breathe each other’s breaths, to look into John’s dancing eyes which are so very very dark blue.

They break away slowly, still stealing soft kisses. John smiles fondly. “You are such a git”

The detective is sporting a very smug look. “I just used your same methods”

“Actually, I meant that in general terms, rather than in this specific instance”

Sherlock’s answer is to nip John’s neck just in that little spot under his ear, and gleefully enjoy the little squeak that it elicits. Not that John will ever admit he uttered such a sound. Or that it caused his knees to buckle just a little bit.

“I made us tea before you returned. It’s in my bedroom”

“Your bedroom?” John tilts his head and gives him his fake innocent smile, the one that implies he has no idea what Sherlock is driving at, but that he is more than welcome to explain in minute and explicit detail.

And he’s not imagining the slight blush on the detective’s cheeks.

“Well.. it’s just.. it does have the advantage of being feather free. Also, there are jammy dodgers”

John pretends to think this over for a nanosecond.

“Let me see... You, tea, bed, biscuits. Yep, I’m in”

He takes Sherlock’s hand and smilingly pulls him towards the door.

“Although .. shouldn’t there be a sunset gloriously illuminating this whole scene?”

“I can start a fire in the kitchen, if you like”

“It’s ok, I’m good”


End file.
